


Bare Canvas

by farad



Category: Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Drifterverse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-07
Updated: 2010-08-07
Packaged: 2017-10-10 23:50:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/105804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farad/pseuds/farad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ezra's fascination with Vin's tattoo comes to fruitition</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bare Canvas

**Author's Note:**

> For Di – Happy Birthday! Beta-ed and aided by the wonderful Charlotte C. Hill.

The tattoo was even more breathtaking the second time Ezra saw it. It might have been because it was in the privacy of a bedroom, not the transport room of the Clarion. Might have been because the canvas upon which it lived and breathed was the canvas it was, and spread out on his bed, warm and willing, living and breathing as much as the bird on his shoulder appeared to be.

"You really do like this, don't you." The voice was smoke-raspy and amused, drawling more than usual with what Ezra hoped was happiness as well as pleasure.

By way of answer, he leaned down, doing now what he had almost done the first time he saw it. The first kiss was to the tip of the eagle's open beak, just above one pert nipple. The skin under his lips was soft and moist and without a second thought, his tongue slipped out to taste. Rationally, he knew the ink would have no taste, but under the familiar layers of soap and recycled water, he thought he touched a sweet bitterness that grew stronger as he moved slowly up, tracing the outline of the bird from the strong lines of the head and neck back to the clusters of feathers that were shaded so richly over the shoulder's curve.

"So this is all I have to do to keep you from talking? I need to get a few more."

The thought of it, this hard-muscled, lean body covered in tattoos, drained all the blood from Ezra's head and sent it straight to the one place over which he had the least control. As this situation demonstrated, what with this man sprawled on his bed, here, on this planet where Ezra was finishing up a complex legal interaction between the Council and the Lyrans and could blow the whole thing - not to mention his professional career . . .

"Breathe," the soft voice whispered against his ear. "No need in you passing out before the real fun starts."

Bastard, he thought, but he inhaled deeply, responding to the order as much as the flash of irritation. "I beg to differ," he said, drawing back from the design, "I find that this is the 'real fun'." He smiled as his words blew across the ink-stained skin, pleased to see it pebble, giving the image another dimension.

Something brushed against his thigh, gently, and he discerned fingers teasing at the fine hairs and ticklish skin. It was erotic and seductive, two things that weren't at the top of the list when it came to his considerations of this man. But there they were, drifting languidly into the juncture of his legs and body. His traitorous cock wept, as easily seduced by the caresses as it had been by the imaginary visions behind his eyes, of lines and angles waltzing across the palette of pristine flesh, forming into shapes and colors and whole patterns. An exotic bouquet of flowers blossomed over one thigh, their stems twining together, spiraling down and around the knee and shin and calf in a thorny cord of bondage. He reached down, tracing the outline of the imagined ink, and he smiled as the flesh under his fingers shivered, the long arch of the flowers' petals forming a perfect map of the sensitivity of the canvas beneath it.

The flowers faded from view, but a large cat erupted along the flat abdomen, its back legs and tail curling down the hip and into the opposite thigh, its fangs bared, the sharp points holding trapped the satin circle of the belly button. As he reached to touch it, it, too, started to fade, and in its stead, a long wide sword shimmered along the length of chest, the hilt stretching from nipple to nipple, their small circles forming the ends, and the point of the blade resting just above the snout of the cat's nose. Another map, he thought, knowing how sensitive those nipples were.

"You go to sleep up there?"

Ezra startled, not so much at the words as at the corresponding tickle of fingers around his balls, closing on them with care. His cock bounced against his belly, the sound wet and sharp in the stillness.

"Guess not." There was laughter now, and Ezra grimaced, almost embarrassed by his distraction. Almost. His need was stronger, though, and he turned his attention away from the might be's to the spread wings of the bird that stretched before him.

"Extraordinary work," he commented, leaning down and ignoring the pressure it placed on the sack between his legs.

"You should see Chanu's other work, his sculptures. Just the sort of stuff you'd love, high art if ever I saw it."

Ezra frowned. "Expensive?" he asked. "Are you suggesting - "

"I'm suggesting that he does work you'd like." It wasn't easy to shrug when reclined on the bed, but the detail in the tattoo was so strong that the subtle motion made the eagle look as though it were in motion.

Ezra caught his breath, watching the wings as they seemed to spread and ripple, as if currents of air were rising under them. Oh yes, he did like this man's work.

He leaned down once more, tasting the sweat and essence of the man but seeking out the tang of ink or even the essence of the bird itself. For an instant, he thought something brushed against his tongue, as light as a feather itself.

The fingers fondling his balls eased away, leaving them to sway as if blown on the same breeze that moved the eagle. But before he could miss the touch, his cock was caught at the base, the grip sure and determined.

"This is a piece of art, too." The rasp was stronger now, the voice huskier. "But it's got some other uses - maybe you oughta put it to work before it disappears."

The words took a while to form in his head as concrete thought, his mind divided between the image of the bird, which had shifted again at the movement of the arm under it, and the thrum of blood through his erection. When the implication finally settled, it caused a shock of pressure in his groin that left him breathless.

He managed to force his gaze away from the bird, managed to catch his breath, even managed to get a coherent thought from his mind to his tongue, but laughter cut him off, followed by more words that went straight to his groin.

"You act like you don't know what to do - or where to put this." The fingers around his cock tightened just a little and pulled up, stroking him. "Need a hand? Or something more?"

There was no way to misinterpret the invitation, especially when it was accompanied by another movement; hard-muscled legs eased along the burgundy bed cover, spreading into a wide 'v' that led directly to the place Ezra had dreamed of being, of claiming.

"If you ain't interested..."

His body acted before his mind had completely processed the words, his knees colliding bruisingly with his lover's, but he hardly noticed as he moved into place. The images from before swam behind his eyes as he looked down at the perfect expanse of bare skin, ribs and sternum as well defined as the less protruding layers of muscle in the shoulders and breast. When the sword emerged once more, he followed the line of it down, as if it were an arrow, to find the rigid line of another sort of sword pointing up.

The idea of a tattoo around it, drapes of flames or iridescent petals, created a churning in his groin that was barely quelled by the fingers still holding his own cock.

"Here." The tone was harder now, impatient, and Ezra was half aware of something being pressed into one of his hands. A tube, the shape familiar, and already open so all he had to do was squeeze out the self-warming gel. He shifted, reaching down, but a grab to his wrist thwarted his efforts. "On you - I'm ready, more than ready."

His breath caught again, but only for an instant; his primal instincts took over, the desire for release, this release, relegating everything else to the part of his brain that had no say over his body. It'd been a while since he'd been on this side of the equation, but body-memory was strong and his hand made quick work of applying the gel. He met no resistance as he caught his lover's legs behind the knees, bringing them up. Between them, they positioned a pillow for easier access, and then Ezra was in place, the head of his cock snug against the entrance to the other man.

For a second, he paused, relishing this feeling, this anticipation. But his patience was thin, his body's needs too high, and his hips pushed forward before he could stop them. From there, it was pure sensation. Hot, slick, tight, so tight it almost hurt. He had to stop, partly because of the constriction and partly because he was too close, and he wanted more, wanted to at least get all the way in before it was over.

Wanted to revel in possessing this man, claiming him, felt like.

It was that thought that gave him back some control, enough to press forward. He was aware of a noise, a grunt, and he thought it was his own, but his partner also let out a groan and he felt the vise of long legs wrapping around his waist and drawing him down. Their weight and the pull of muscles accustomed to hard work and lots of it was more than he could resist and before he could stop it, he was fully sheathed in the body he'd entered.

Too tight, at first, and he panted, concentrating on the pleasure of it instead of the pain. But the pain eased, slowly, and he was in the most perfect place he could imagine.

"God! Did you die up there? Move, dammit!" Orders, again, but as before, his body did as it was told.

From there, it was instinct and desperation, his thrusts short and fast and seeming to last mere seconds before his body was arching and his balls ejecting everything they'd produced for years. Before his eyes, images flashed in stark neon colors, the tattoos he had imagined, the one that was real, the stark features of the man who bore them, his lips pulled back in a grimace of pleasure, his brow wrinkled in savage concentration. That was, by far, the highest art in the room, that look. The look he had put there, and would put there again if he had his way.

Afterwards, he lay panting on top of his lover, their bodies still joined but now cemented by sweat and come and exhaustion. His nose, though, was on the bird and when he could get his eyes to open, the first thing he saw was the eagle's eyes, predatory and victorious. Just like the man under him.

Just like the man he loved.

"You'll like him," Chris said, and Ezra felt fingers worm into his hair. With some reluctance, he turned his head away from the bird to meet the green eyes he knew too well.

"How did you get him to do a copy? I thought artists didn't like to replicate their works."

Chris kissed him before answering, his lips soft, the contact so warm that it contradicted the angry snarl of pleasure that had embedded itself in Ezra's memory. Ezra had almost forgotten the question by the time they separated, so it took him a few seconds to follow the path of the words.

"He asked what he could do to pay me back for bringing Vin home to him," he said quietly. "Those two . . . I don't know that I'll ever understand the Drifters, but those two got something deep going on. Chanu reminds me of you, now that I think about it - all that anger and worry. He can't see what's right in front of him, not when it comes to Vin."

"I don't see what's right in front of me?" he asked, shifting to lift his head so that he could meet Chris' eyes.

Chris smiled at him, but the expression was soft. "This tattoo isn't permanent," he said, his voice easy. "But it can be. When we leave here, I've got to go back to the colony - I want to check on Vin, pick up Josiah, make sure everything's as it should be. Chanu said he could do the permanent ink then, if I want it. Or it will fade over time and he'll do something else, some other tattoo, wherever you want, whatever you want." He held Ezra's gaze, and Ezra felt the breath freeze in his body, at that implication. That offer. "But bear in mind, he's not a tattoo-ist. He's an artist. You'd be better served to commission a concept and let him execute it."

The images from earlier again blasted through Ezra's head, beautiful and deadly and sketched out on different parts of the body he knew as well as he knew his own. But even as the ideas caught his fancy, it was three words that repeated over and over in his head: 'whatever you want'.

"You'd do that - for me?" he asked. "A tattoo?"

Chris leaned in, kissing Ezra quickly once more before shifting out from under him. "Yeah, I'd do that for you. And I'd do more than that. But right now, I gotta piss and clean up, and then we've got to get some sleep. You can spend tomorrow looking at pretty pictures while I make sure the Clarion is refueled. You and Chanu can talk about it - well, knowing the two of you, for years, probably." He shook his head as he pushed off the bed. But as he caught his balance then stretched, his arms extending back, the bird shimmered in the soft light, looking more defiant than ever.

Ezra watched his lover walk away, all planes and lines and angles - and grace and beauty. Once again he'd given Ezra a commitment, one he'd not thought Chris could ever again give. And Ezra Standish wasn't fool enough to refuse it. Even though he was sure now that it wouldn't be Vin Tanner's eagle that he had etched under Chris's skin. Ezra was too selfish by far to let them share that bird or much of anything else, other than this strange friendship they had. A tattoo on his lover would be one of a kind.

Even though he wasn't sure there was any tattoo that would suit the canvas that was Chris Larabee.


End file.
